Читать книгу When Two Paths Meet - Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

OCTOBER had given way to November, and the late autumn sunshine had disappeared behind low banks of cloud, tearing around the sky, pushed to and fro by a ferocious wind. The Graingers didn’t venture out; Katherine unpicked knitting, played bezique with Mr Grainger, read the newspapers to him and romantic novels to Mrs Grainger and, in between whiles, gave a hand around the house. The cleaning ladies who came each day were excellent workers, but they did their work and nothing more; Katherine, perceiving how Mrs Dowling’s corns hurt, took to carrying the trays to and from the dining-room and, occasionally, when Mrs Dowling was in need of a rest, she dried the dishes and loaded and unloaded the dishwasher. Mrs Dowling always thanked her rather coldly for these small tasks, but her manner had softened considerably; the small, quiet girl was no threat to her authority, and she was proving a dab hand at keeping Mr and Mrs Grainger happy.

During the second week of Katherine’s stay she was invited to go down to the kitchen each morning before she dressed and share Mrs Dowling’s pot of tea, something she was happy to do, for it made a pleasant start to the day, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking Mrs Dowling’s strong tea and listening to that lady’s views on life in general and the household where she lived and worked in particular.

Within a very few days it was Katherine who carried the early morning tea trays up to Mr and Mrs Grainger. As she pointed out, she was going upstairs anyway, and it would save Mrs Dowling’s corns. But although her days were filled by small chores she had two hours off each afternoon, something she looked forward to; there was so much to do and see. The cathedral was a never-ending source of interest; she pored over the Magna Carta in its library, studied the ancient manuscripts there, and wandered to and fro, examining the tombstones. When she had had her fill, she explored the narrow streets around the close, admiring the houses and wishing that she could live in one of them. The Graingers’ house was delightful but, although she lived in it, she was aware that sooner or later they would die and she would be out of a job. She wondered who would have the house; probably Dodie, who certainly wouldn’t want to employ her in any capacity.

Katherine paused to admire a particularly fine Georgian house bordering on to the close. Dodie wouldn’t want her grandparents’ house; she would be married to Dr Fitzroy by then, and he must surely have a house of his own. She had seen him when he visited his patients, of course, but she knew no more about him than the first time they had met.

At the end of her second week she took herself off to Marks and Spencer again, and bought a dress: pale grey with a white collar and a neat belt—unexciting, but she would not get tired of it as quickly as a brighter colour. She bore it back and wore it that evening. Examining herself in the long glass in her bedroom she was pleased with her appearance, for it was a distinct improvement on anything else hanging in her wardrobe.

She went downstairs feeling pleased with herself, and when Mrs Grainger observed, ‘You look nice, Katherine,’ she beamed with pleasure. A pity that Dr Fitzroy couldn’t see her now…

The wish was father to the thought: she was setting Mrs Grainger’s knitting to rights when Mrs Dowling opened the door. ‘Dr Fitzroy,’ she announced as he came into the room.

He had brought a book which Mr Grainger had wished to read, and stayed only briefly, but he paused by the door to ask Katherine, ‘Everything is all right?’ and when she said ‘Yes,’ he gave her a vague, kindly look. ‘Splendid. You must be looking forward to buying yourself some pretty clothes. I’m sure if you ask her, Dodie will tell you where to go.’

Katherine’s calm face gave away nothing of her feelings about this unfortunate remark. Nothing, just nothing would make her buy anything at a shop recommended by Dodie, even if she could afford it, which she couldn’t. She said in a wooden voice, ‘How kind,’ and shot him a look of such rage that he blinked. There was more behind that composed face than he had thought, and he found himself interested to know what it was.

He said pleasantly, ‘If you should want to visit your brother, let me know. I could drive you out there.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but I hadn’t planned to—to go back for a little while.’ She could hardly tell him that her letters had gone unanswered and a visit from her would be unwelcome. Joyce had said that she didn’t care if she never saw her again… ‘I’m very happy here,’ she told him, and wished him a polite goodnight. Before she undressed that evening, she took a good look at her image in the pier-glass in her room. There was nothing wrong with her new dress; it was suitable, cheap and completely lacking in high fashion, but then, high fashion was something quite useless for someone like herself. It was a very nice dress, she told herself defiantly, and next week she would buy some shoes; high-heeled and elegant. By Christmas she would have an adequate wardrobe; by the time she had bought the basic items, she would be able to save her money and start to pick and choose.

She got into bed, planning what she would buy; clothes which would make Dr Fitzroy look at her twice. She was just dropping off on her hopeful thought when Mr Grainger rang. He couldn’t sleep, he complained, and would she get him a drink? Ovaltine or Bengers…

Another week went by, highlighted by the doctor’s visits, always brief, during which he took blood pressures, listened carefully to his patients’ mild complaints and went away again with barely a word to Katherine. There was a visit from Dodie too, as brief as the doctor’s had been. She arrived just as the old couple were preparing to take their afternoon nap, wrapped in a beautifully cut coat and wearing high patent-leather boots. She had been to the hairdressers, she explained and just had to pop in and see how her darlings were getting on, although she cut her grandfather short when he started to describe his bad chest, laughingly telling him to stop worrying.